The Cost Of Confessions
by BeautyInSadness
Summary: One part story. Amy is nostalgic as she takes the day upon herself to remember her regretful actions against her fiance, Tom.


**The Cost Of Confessions**

"I want to cancel the flowers."

"All of them?"

"Yes."  
"All **2000**?"  
"Yes, please."

I was becoming desperate now.

"But we don't do refunds." I had a feeling this florist didn't quite understand me. I didn't want a refund. I just wanted to cancel my f u c k i n g flowers. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I don't need them anymore."

"Oh."

The request was granted without any further question. I think the message had gotten through at long last. This wasn't how I planned on spending my wedding day. The morning of the supposed most important of my life, had been taken up by cancelling the entire event.

I looked down to the list I'd twisted, screwed up, and torn up in my hands whilst being on the phone to the florist, the caterers and the registrar. I'd maintained my composure so far. There had been no overwhelming tears of regret, not yet anyhow. I wasn't sure whether I'd be so collected when I ticked off the next item on the back of a blank forgotten invitation. I trailed up the stairs lethargically, my head spinning with an immense sensation filling my entire being, lamentations over the idiocy and shame of my actions and an undeniable feeling of remorse to top it all off.

The door to the bedroom felt heavy as I pushed down on the handle, a lonely creak echoing throughout the otherwise empty house as it opened slowly, as if reluctant to let me enter. The room didn't want my presence. I was a traitor to all it's meaning, to every stroke of paint on the walls, every picture hanging from their nails, every single thread woven in to the bed sheets that up until last night had been covering two people instead of just the one; the betrayer. I had committed the one **taboo** I swore to myself I never would. I deserved to be feeling this, this guilt.

There it was, lying on the bed, innocently waiting for me, not knowing I'll never use it. The long white flowing material of my bridal apparel skilfully made silk and lace folds of unique perfection, **delicate** to the touch. My wedding dress. I stepped forward, my fingers shakily fumbling for the zip of the plastic covering, pulling it up carefully, and watching my hope disappear in to oblivion.

As I looked over the encased gown, the list written on the invitation, and the half empty wardrobe that stood in what used to be 'our' bedroom, I finally realised. It hit me. I wasn't going to get married today. I wasn't going to be wife to the one man I love more than anything else this world could possibly offer me. I'd lost miserably. I'd failed. And what for? That one unimportant night with a stranger, whose name I cannot, nor do I wish to, remember.

I should have known I was to be found out. I shouldn't have allowed myself to become so intoxicated on the night that celebrated my last few weeks of apparent freedom. The month before my wedding was to take place. It was to be the greatest send up of singledom; instead, I'm now paying the cost of the confession that had erupted from my lips only the day previous.

Painful pounding in my chest, and an agonising lump stuck in my throat forced me to close my eyes, making myself aware of the gathered tears ready to fall from safety. My fists clenched tightly, my cheeks hot and red with anger at my own stupidity, I collapsed to the floor, my knees hitting the laminate flooring with a sickly smack. My thoughts were racing, running through yesterday's cruel turn of events. The threat of **blackmail** from a bridesmaid when I'd explained my dilemma after receiving the letter from the doctor's surgery that morning; so blunt and straight to the point, it wasn't exactly uplifting **literature**. It was the end of my world as I knew it.

Pregnant.

I can pinpoint the precise moment when Tom's face had fallen when he realised. The instant when his brow furrowed with hurt, confusion and anger all at once. And I remember the sound of the slam of the door after he'd finished packing his possessions in to that large suitcase he'd brought for the honeymoon, which I still hadn't cancelled. Something else I still hadn't been given the chance to do, not that I deserved anymore chances. I never got to tell him. My baby is his baby.

"Amy?" I look up, my breathing irregular and inconsistent, the oxygen catching in my throat awkwardly when my eyes recognise the tall blonde man stood in the doorway. I let my head drop again. I'm not even worthy of looking at him. I'm nothing now. "Amy, I came back."

"You should have stayed away." I whisper, choking on my words. I shouldn't have even spoken. I find myself clasping on to my knees as I draw them to my chest tightly. I'm not calm anymore. I can't find my composure. "You don't need to be here. I did all the cancellations."

"Amy, look at me." Tom's knees make a gentle thud on the floor as he kneels in front of my empty shell; there's nothing left of me now. I'm hardly in existence. I shake my head until his warm palm touches my burning cheek, bringing my head up to look, to gaze upon his flawless features. He'd never do what I did to him. He'd never stray. "I came back." His words are slow and louder, stronger. I know he's back. I see him. I can feel him. I hear him.

This is torture.

"Please go." I croak. I'm not even strong enough to push him away as he shuffles closer still. Is he doing this on purpose? Is he finding some sick enjoyment out of this? The pleasure of revenge, perhaps?

"Everyone makes a big mistake, Amy." He speaks. I look away again as a small smile blesses his lips, creating a small single dimple that I'd always adored gazing at when he grinned. "I love you, Amy. I…I couldn't even stay away."

"No." I whimper, feebly slapping at his chest, letting my palms rest against his shirt. "Stop it." I move away from his hand on my face, watching it fall to his side, limp and without function once more. "Why are you doing this?" I wheeze. It's so unlike him to be unkind, to tease in this way. I don't understand.

"Listen to me! I'm here to stay." He points to the suitcase that's sitting in the doorway, his gaze never leaving mine. I bite my lip hard, ignoring the pain as I think this through. "I am, Amy, I swear to you."

"But, what I did, I… Tom, I cheated on you!" I argue. Why I argue, I don't know. This is what I want. I want him to stay. I want him to sweep me in to his arms and tell me everything's okay, even when it isn't. But I know that's asking too much.

"I know, sweetheart." He glances to my middle and I find the shame travelling in shivers up and down my spine again. I feel dirty and unworthy once more. I'm disgusting still. "Amy, I know you can't take back what happened, and it's going to be hard. But I'm still here."

"Tom." I look down at myself, swallowing hard. The lump is still there.

"I don't care if you keep the baby. I'll still be a father." He was rushing with his words, his tongue tripping and his voice cracking.

"You don't understand." I couldn't even hear myself now. This was too much. This was my only chance to tell him. "You… My… Our… Tom, I'm so sorry." I sob heavily, my shoulders heaving. "It's our baby." I pause, watching him intently for some reaction, a sign of some kind. "You left before I could even tell you."

There's silence.

He smiles softly.

He takes my hand, and kisses it. This gesture alone speaks everything, all the reassurance I need. He's taking me as I am. Despite all my flaws and the deception I tried to cover up until the very last minute. But I still don't know how he's doing this. How can he look at me the same way? How can he love me?

"I don't deserve you." I crumble as his arms envelope me like they would any other day. Except, this time, it's different. There's something more to this. There's more between us now. "I should pay for what I did. You deserve to be happy."

"How can I be happy when I'm without you?"

**FINISHED**


End file.
